


Our Own Forget-Me-Nots

by AdmirableMonster (Mertiya)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Childhood Sweethearts, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flower Crowns, Fluff, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, discussions of the second kinslaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28936800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/AdmirableMonster
Summary: Waking from a dream, Thranduil meets an Elf he believes he recognizes, and they have a sweet afternoon together.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel/Thranduil, Elurín/Thranduil
Comments: 18
Kudos: 24
Collections: 2021 My Slashy Valentine





	Our Own Forget-Me-Nots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deathangelgw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathangelgw/gifts).



> thanks to daphnerunning and moiety 
> 
> title from Tolkien's poem "The Cottage of Lost Play" which is depressingly appropriate to my hcs about Thranduil

King Thranduil did not often sleep alone beneath the dark, deep boughs of Mirkwood.Before he had been king, he had spent many nights out in the forest alone, listening to the laughter of the brooks and the songs of the trees.Now, if he wanted to, he had to slip away, and, as the dark shadows lengthened in his forest with the passing of the years, it became more and more difficult to make excuses for the danger he was putting himself in.But sometimes he still could not help himself, and today was one of those times.

It was a hot day in early summer, too hot, so hot that the very air itself seemed to be straining, ready to burst with moisture.The trees were still, and there was no wind.In the sky far above, he knew, the clouds must be amassing.It had been a day like this, laden with the tension of a coming storm, that the Sons of Fëanor had come to Doriath.

It had not stayed hot, then, but it had not been summer then, but late autumn.The thunderstorm that had burst above their heads while King Dior and Celegorm the Cruel screamed insults at each other had dropped cold rain, and the cold rain had become snow.Or so Thranduil recalled it.Sometimes he thought he recalled it a little differently whenever he paused for thought.It could not be true, of course, for was he not an Elf, with a memory as perfect as a still and unmoving lake?

The pressure of the day had driven him to escape his court and make for the woods.He had wandered for some time among the darkened trees, wishing the land were less shadowed.He might as well wish for a star to fall into the palm of his hand.Eventually, tired out by the heat of the day and the ominous feeling of the approaching storm, he laid himself down beside a tree and shut his eyes.He doubted any spiders would come here, for it was as yet too close to his own kingdom, and if one did, he thought that he would be glad of an excuse to kill.

In the past, his dreams in the forest had been sweeter than his dreams in his bed within the castle walls.But this day, the coiled tension in the air was too much, or perhaps some ill spirit chanced across him, for his dreams were true, but not sweet.

_In his dreams, he stands in a gurgling stream as Eluréd splashes water onto him.Usually it would be frozen by this time of year, but it has been a hot autumn, and although the leaves have fallen from the trees, the stream runs swiftly.Elurín’s hands catch his shoulders from behind and shove him, and he staggers, reaching out to catch himself, laughing helplessly.He turns and catches Elurín’s belt, tussling him into the stream as well._

_His hands are full of laughing, squirming friend, and then his hands are empty.He stares about him.Somehow the two boys are running, at the edge of the forest, even though they were just here.Somehow, snow swirls down about his face, and when he tries to follow them, he finds that the stream has frozen about his ankles._

_“Eluréd!Elurín!” he calls, but they do not answer.“Wait, come back!” he cries, and he hears the heavy drumbeat of hooves upon the path, rhythmic as the beating of a heart.Turning, he sees seven riders upon seven horses, and the eight-pointed star of Fëanor gleams upon each breast.None of them look at him.None of them see him.A moment later, the screaming begins._

_He is running.He is crying._

_He must find Eluréd and Elurín, but he cannot remember what their faces look like._

_They were wearing blue.He remembers that; he is sure that he remembers that._

_They were wearing blue._

Thranduil opened his eyes, and Elurín was bending over him.He sucked in his breath, waiting for the illusion to dissipate, but it did not.Elurín was smiling, a little out of breath, and there was a flower crown upon his hair, and his blue robes were rumpled.He was no boy anymore but a grown Elf.

“Oh, you are all right,” he said, with a soft laugh.“I did not expect to find anyone in this forest, and I could not tell whether you were ill or merely sleeping.I am glad to find it is the latter!”

Raising his fingers, Thranduil traced along the edge of Elurín’s jaw.He could not understand how he had come to be here.He could not have come to be here.He must, he realized slowly, still be dreaming, and he thought there might be tears pricking at his eyes.Those dark eyes blinked at him in surprise, but Elurín smiled the way he always used to, and Thranduil suddenly did not care if this _was_ a dream—it was a sweet one.A shame that Eluréd was not here as well, but—it had been Elurín he had grieved most deeply.

“Stay?” Thranduil asked him quietly.

“I suppose there is no reason I cannot.All I have done today is find and weave myself a crown of flowers, as you can see.May I know your name?”

“Do you not know me?” Thranduil asked, with a queer little twist to his heart.“No,” he said, after a moment.“No, perhaps you would not.Let us—not speak of names.”

There was a moment, and then Elurín gave him a small smile.“I suppose it would be pleasant to just be two companions together for an afternoon,” he said.“And I am always willing to make a new friend.”

A tight thing inside Thranduil’s chest unwound.“Will you make me a crown like this?” he asked, feeling almost childish in his eagerness.

“If you would like.Come with me, then, we shall have to collect the flowers first.” 

Although Thranduil could have steered them towards any one of a number of glades he knew of that would be steeped in a waterfall of blossoms, he let Elurín take the lead.His heart tightened and thumped hard when Elurín caught his hand to tug him along.It could not feel just the same as it had so long ago, but it felt warm and good all the same.And the dark hair flowing in the wind ahead of him spilling across those blue-clad shoulders made him want to cry again. 

The place Elurín took him to was one that he did not know, smaller and a little darker than one of those he would have chosen.There was a high thorn bush along one side covered in blowsy roses.Violets made a carpet along part of the clearing, and a high stone formed something almost like a wall on the other side.“Here.There’s a stream beyond the thorn hedge as well,” Elurín told him.“For if you’re thirsty.”

“May I braid flowers into your hair?” Thranduil asked him.Perhaps he was begging, pleading.He didn’t care.

“I would like that.”

They spent a little time plucking flowers, until they had armfuls of sweet-smelling violets and roses.Then Elurín cast himself down heedless upon the green carpet and looked up, eyes sparkling, patting the ground beside him.Thranduil half-feared breaking the spell, but the invitation was obvious.After half a moment, he seated himself, and Elurín moved to lay his head in Thranduil’s lap.It was heavy and solid and warm.Thranduil felt as if he might cry again.

He drew trembling fingers through Elurín’s hair, reveling in the soft, pleased sounds the other Elf made.

“Are you going to pet me all day or are you going to braid flowers into my hair?” Elurín asked him in amusement after several minutes of this.“I don’t mind, but perhaps we shouldn’t waste the flowers.”

Thranduil felt his face going pink in a way he didn’t think it had for many millennia.“Your hair is soft,” he stammered, but he reached for the flowers and began to braid them into that long dark hair.Elurín looked back at him and smiled gently.His own slim hands swiftly wove a loose crown of roses interspersed with little violets.Thranduil thought he could lose himself in those soft, dark eyes.

As if in a dream, he bent forward, his eyes fixed on Elurín’s plush lips.He bent so close he could feel warm breath on his face; Elurín made no motion to pull away.At that moment, a brilliant flash of lightning near blinded him, accompanied by a roll of thunder that seemed to shake the very earth itself, and it began to rain heavily.

Elurín uttered a startled oath, sitting up so fast he nearly knocked their foreheads together.Thranduil, ignoring the thrill of disappointment running through him, got quickly to his feet and held out a hand to the other.“I know this forest well,” he said.“Come with me, I’ll take us to shelter.”He ought to have known better than to rely on the weather upon such a day.

They ran swiftly through the rainy forest, feet squelching in mud puddles.Elurín was laughing behind him by the time Thranduil found his way to a nearby cave, little more than a split in the rock near a stream that was fast becoming a torrent.He helped Elurín across it, and they both huddled inside.It was only then that Thranduil realized that he had been thinking of it as good shelter because he was used to being alone.Elurín’s warm body was pressed against him everywhere.

“I am sorry,” he gasped.“There is less room than I thought there was.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Elurín laughed.“I am wet, but at least the company is pleasant enough.”

He turned as he spoke, and his face, beaded with moisture, was so close this time that Thranduil could not keep from leaning forward and closing the space between them.He could taste rainwater upon Elurín’s lips.

As he realized what he had done, he started to pull back, but Elurín followed him, interlinking his arms about Thandruil’s neck and deepening the kiss.Thranduil gasped and let his arms fall about the other’s back.

“You are very lovely,” Elurín murmured earnestly, breaking the kiss only to press a new line of them along Thranduil’s neck and collar-bone.Thranduil shivered, clutching at Elurín’s hair.“Careful, you’ll crush the flowers,” Elurín admonished him, chuckling.Then, with a careful motion, he set the crown of roses atop Thrandruil’s head.

“I didn’t know you’d managed to keep that,” Thranduil told him hoarsely.

“Oh, I am quite talented,” Elurín assured him.His hands dropped to stroke through Thranduil’s wet hair.“And I felt it only appropriate to crown the king of my heart for the day.”

Thranduil swallowed at that and kissed him again.“Just for the day,” he murmured.“Let me hold you close.Let me love you.Let me—”

Elurín went pliant in his arms, humming with pleasure.“Yes,” he agreed, sounding dreamy and kind—kind as the summer that had brought them here together.“Just for the day.”

* * *

The Sun broke through the clouds eventually, drifting towards the horizon in a blaze of red glory.Thranduil leaned against the rock wall, Elurín drowsing in his lap.“The day is over,” he said softly.“Wake up, friend.”

Those dark-lashed eyes fluttered.“So it is,” Elurín agreed softly.“I must be going, for my children will wonder where I have vanished to, if it takes me much longer after dark to return.”

“Your _children_!”

Mistaking where the shock in Thranduil’s voice was coming from, Elurín smiled sadly.“Do not worry,” he said.“My wife would not begrudge us this sweet afternoon.She is far away, across the sea.Such things are not strange to us.”

“No,” Thranduil agreed, mastering himself after a moment.“No, of course, I was—startled, only.I, myself, must return or my own son will be concerned.”

“Ah, we are not so different,” laughed the other Elf.In the light of evening, there was something a little changed about his face, or perhaps it was only that Thranduil could see it clearly now.The resemblance was striking, still, but that little dimple that carved into one side of his face had been on both sides in Elurín, and the stray cowlick of his hair curled in the other direction.

The strange Elf rose, with another smile, taking up his damp shirt and putting it on slowly.“I know this was only the one afternoon,” he said, after a moment.“So do not take this as a demand but only an offer, coming from one who would like to make a friendship here.You would be a welcome guest in Imladris.”

That soft, sweet smile.Those dark eyes, so like—so like.And no wonder, if he was the son of Elwing.“You are Elrond,” Thranduil said, sounding stupid to his own ears.

“Ah, you know of me, or Imladris at least.Yes, I have come down to speak with King Thranduil—” A shadow slipped into those eyes.“The world is darkening, and I would have his council, though we have never met.”

Thranduil hid a smile behind his hand.“I have some small knowledge of him,” he said lightly.“I think he will welcome you when you come to his court, Elrond of Imladris.”

“Shall I see you there?”

“I think it likely.”

“Good.”Elrond reached out, took Thranduil’s hand, and raised it to his lips.“Then until then, king of my afternoon.”

“Until then,” Thranduil murmured, and he found that though his heart ached sweetly, he was not disappointed.

**Author's Note:**

> Title runner-ups: "A Dark Child and a Fair"; "Waking Far Apart Them Led"


End file.
